POV: Nara
The ridge above the barrier gave them a view they had not earned. Zone 5 stretched before them like a fractured painting: cracked roads, toppled buildings, skeletal remnants of a city that had once been a hub of commerce, now abandoned and half-swallowed by wild scrub. Beyond that lay Zone 6 and the promise of fewer restrictions—fewer barriers—but the first step was the real problem. The barrier separating Zone 4 and Zone 5.
She had anticipated this. The moment they approached the ridge, she stopped. Her army paused, a single pulse of movement echoing through the shadows: Ash adjusting his armored stance, Pip skittering ahead to scan the barrier's edge, Varyn and Sena whispering quietly over the group's rear. Dort shifted beside her, expression tight, shadowed by uncertainty.
"The barrier," she said softly. Her voice was more to herself than anyone else, but Dort heard. "Seventeen of them won't make it."
He nodded immediately, like he had been expecting it. "Level 0.00001," he said, voice tight. "Technically alive, technically flagged. You mean the System will…?"
"Yes," she said. "If they step forward without intervention, they die. Simple as that. Level 1 barrier. Kills anyone over Level 0 who isn't registered or privileged. Every one of them. Some of them have spent months in Zone 0 labour. Enough to register as Level 0.00001. Enough to trigger a kill command."
The silence after that was heavy. No one spoke. Even the Wraith-stone pulsed in an almost nervous rhythm, and Pip let out a tiny, unsettled chirp. Ash tilted his head slightly, scanning the barrier's shimmer, the light reflecting across his armored plates, but he made no movement.
Nara stepped closer. She had already calculated every possible workaround. Levelling them was impossible—100,000 EXP each. There wasn't enough time, not even if they leveled for days on the move, and some of them were incapable of even grasping the basics of the System's mechanics. The Grimoire was at her side, open to the section she had memorized weeks ago: historical exploits of the barrier. Cases marked "undead override," "property classification," and "registered charges."
The solution was… almost elegant in its simplicity. And morally grotesque.
She turned to Dort. "If I do this, you're officially my charges."
He blinked. "You mean… slaves?"
She shook her head slowly, deliberately. "Legally. In the System. They will be processed as property, yes, but not in the way you're thinking. I am responsible for them. The System recognizes my authority. It does not kill them, it does not impede them. That is all it needs to do. When this is unnecessary, I revoke it."
Dort didn't answer immediately. He stared at her, reading the subtle inflection of the words, the absolute lack of moral flourish. The way she presented it, it was neither a threat nor a favor—it was fact. Pure, clinical, and unassailable. His hands clenched slightly at his sides. "When will that be?" he asked finally.
"When I have something better," she replied.
She turned her attention back to the System interface, the grey bar along her arm flickering as she executed the commands. The Grimoire's interface responded, almost reverent in its compliance. Seventeen slots, seventeen names. She entered them, one by one, typing the aliases, the minor details, the zero-level signatures. The System pulsed as it processed each input, verifying each signature, checking for conflicts, and finally, after what felt like a long beat, confirmed:
[PROPERTY REGISTRATION: 17 CHARGES ACCEPTED]
The notification echoed in the psychic periphery of everyone standing nearby. Dort read it over her shoulder, mouth tight. "You just made us slaves again," he said, voice sharp, borderline accusatory.
"Legally," she said. "In the System."
He swallowed. "Is there a difference?"
"Yes," she said. Her gaze never left the barrier, its shimmer casting faint light over the gravel beneath her boots. "I own you to the System. I answer to no one. And when this is unnecessary, I will revoke it. The difference is my authority, not theirs. Not the System's. They will see me, only me. And that is enough."
Dort's hands flexed, his knuckles pale. He was struggling with the abstraction, the moral gymnastics, but he followed. "And… now we cross?"
"Now we cross."
She stepped forward first. The barrier reacted immediately, a low hum vibrating through the air. The shimmer of blue light flickered against her skin, rippling across the surface like water in a disturbed pond. She kept her pace calm, controlled, every movement measured. The System acknowledged her authority over the seventeen charges. There was no conflict. No kill command. Just acceptance.
Dort followed, his hands shaking—not just from anger, not just from moral conflict, but from the relief of seeing seventeen people step forward without instant death. Pip flitted around his shoulders, quivering slightly but staying in formation. Ash walked beside him, ever-vigilant, a protective shadow. The Wraith-stone pulsed ahead, glowing faintly, providing the invisible line of intelligence they needed to detect hazards that would otherwise be invisible to mortal eyes.
The former slaves stepped carefully, hesitantly, each footfall measured, tested against the shimmer of the barrier. Some trembled, looking at Nara, their wide eyes reflecting fear, awe, and confusion. The barrier barely registered them, registering only her authority as the controlling undead. She could feel the System's recognition, the silent compliance, the subtle shift in status as it marked the seventeen as hers.
One of them, a small boy with dirt-streaked hair and hands still raw from Zone 0 labour, whispered, "Will it hurt us?"
She paused for a heartbeat, glanced at him, and said, softly, "No. Not if you follow me."
Another, older, more cynical, muttered under his breath about ownership, about freedom, about the fairness of a system that allowed someone to control lives with a command. Nara did not answer him. She did not need to. The System would answer, silently, without debate. She merely continued forward, one step at a time, until all seventeen had passed through safely.
The ridge beyond the barrier opened into the fractured cityscape of Zone 5. It smelled of dust, damp stone, and old smoke. The army moved as a cohesive unit, coordinating without words, the refugees cautiously taking in their surroundings. Kael had fallen in behind Nara now, watching, analyzing, providing silent guidance. Every detail mattered: which broken walls could conceal them, which streets were free of patrols, which minor patrols could be avoided with precise timing.
Dort finally exhaled, shaking hands dropping to his sides. "You did it," he said. Not as praise, not as gratitude—just recognition.
"Yes," she said. "The only way it could be done. And it has real weight, moral weight. Don't forget that."
He looked down, uncertain whether to be angry, relieved, or simply exhausted. Pip chirped in his ear, a tiny affirmation. He allowed himself a brief, private smile.
They moved forward. Zone 5 awaited. Broken, dangerous, but unguarded—for now. And Nara, as always, carried the burden of every life that walked behind her, seventeen shadows bound to her authority, moving through a world that did not yet know the force they had become.
The System, invisible, unblinking, waited to see if she would follow through. And she had.